things i've never said before, always six feet deep
by charlietheepic7
Summary: Buried alive, secrets will come to light in the inky darkness. Two-shot, no pairings


Fighting back the nausea that appeared when he tried to move, Conan found himself in complete darkness. His stomach lurched and, closing his eyes again, he waited for it to settle before investigating his surroundings. He was sitting on leather, the material slick and pliant under his hands. It felt like a chair or, he reevaluated as he bumped into the door, the front seat of a car. Reopening his eyes, the only thing Conan could make out was the illuminated analogue clock on the dashboard.

Why wasn't there any other light? Even at night there should be something: moonlight, signs and street lights, even headlights…

Dread began to form as Conan turned his head only for a sharp jolt of pain to run through him. What happened…? He brushed the area lightly with his fingertips. They came away wet. Blood? Why was he bleeding? Last thing he remembered, he was going back to the Mouri's hotel room in Osaka. Hattori had called him in to help out with another serial killer, who kidnapped their victims before…

Oh no. Reaching for his watch, Conan clicked on the light display, lighting up the inside of the car. Instead of seeing sky or countryside out the windows, as he had hoped, Conan could only see dirt, packed in tightly on all sides. His breathing hitched, but he bit the inside of his cheek before he could start hyperventilating.

He had to keep his breathing as slow as possible. Conan had no idea how long he'd been buried alive; he could run out of breathable air any minute.

A groan came from the back seat. Conan's head turned so fast his neck cracked. "Who's there!?" he asked the crumpled form stretched across the width of the car. Another groan was the only answer he received. Shining his watch's light into the back, the first thing he saw was a blood-soaked leg, jeans torn at the thigh. Conan moved the light up to the stranger's eyes and a hand covered a face. A very familiar face.

"Kami-sama…" The voice only confirmed his identity. "It feels like I've been shot…"

"A plausible theory."

Blue eyes squinted past the hand and resignation flashed in them. "Where—" He broke into a coughing fit and Conan climbed into the back seat, mindful of the leg. "Do you know where we are, kiddo?"

"…Underground. Other than that, I have no idea." The other froze and Conan could see the horror swimming in his eyes. Conan swallowed. It wasn't their normal game, and the elder seemed to be content pretending he never met Conan before, but that wasn't a luxury they could support. They needed to work together if they were going to survive. "And there's no need to play innocent, KID. I already recognized you."

"Oh!" KID forced a laugh, smiling through the pain and fear. "How astute of you, Tantei-kun! I knew there's a reason why you're my favorite detective." He tried to pull himself into a sitting position, grunting when it jostled his leg too much.

Conan pushed him back down with all his strength, which wasn't all that much, but KID didn't put up a fight. "Don't move!" he scolded. "We have no idea how bad your leg is, you could just be making it worse!" Shining his light on the wound, Conan cautiously poked around the injured leg, KID unusually quiet. "Multiple lacerations, deep but clotted. Blood loss—" He touched the seat around it and his hand came away wet. "—significate, but since you're conscious, it's probably not life threating yet. Most likely cause: they hit you with their car." Conan sat back. "I can't make a proper assessment without cleaning the blood from around the wound, but as long as you get treatment within the next 12 hours, your leg should be alright. Of course, it's not going to matter after that if we don't get out of here…"

KID jerked. "If we don't…?" He trailed off, rubbing his forehead, his pupils unnaturally dilated. Drugs, Conan realized, or a concussion. He didn't know which would be worse right now.

He shrugged helplessly. "This car is holding approximately 60 cubic feet of air. If 20 percent's oxygen, with two adults, we run out of air in 12 hours, less now."

"But…" KID licked his lips. "No offense, Tantei-kun, but no matter how smart you are, you're not an adult. That should buy us some more time, right?"

Conan could kick himself. He'd forgotten. And worse, in front of KID too; KID knew nothing of Kudo Shinichi and Conan had taken pains to keep him from learning anything. Thief or not, KID wouldn't stand a chance against the Black Organization. "Smaller lung capacity, KID. That means shorter breaths, so I consume approximately the same amount of air you do."

"…And you did all of that in your head?"

"This isn't the first case where I need to know my own lung capacity." Which is rather sad, now that he thought about it. This was his first time being buried alive though, and it might be his last if he can't think his way out of it. "I'm… going to look around, see if the Gravedigger left my stuff in here." Conan scampered back to the front, pointing his watch light at the floor boards. "Him leaving stuff with his victims is a part of his M.O. It's never anything of importance, but hopefully he's underestimated us because I'm a kid and you're drugged." There! His backpack laid half-hidden under the driver seat.

"Gravedigger, huh?" Huffed KID as Conan started looking through his bag. "You really need to get a new hobby, Tantei-kun. All this murderer chasing is going to get you killed."

He bit back the automatic response of "It did." Instead, he started listing the content of the bag aloud. "Okay, we have a couple of juice packs, water bottles, a wallet, 3 phones without their batteries, a tiny first aid kit with little more than band aids, a few disinfecting wipes, and child Advil, some granola bars, pens, a pocket knife, my Detective Boys badge, and a copy of " _A Study in Scarlet"_."

KID huffed out a laugh. "We can read it to each other when we get bored—Ah! Shit!" He folded over in pain, hands scrabbling for purchase on the soft seats.

Shucking off his jacket, Conan tried to use it to mop up the blood, only for KID to hiss as it came in contact with skin—it didn't even touch any of the cuts. Conan frowned. "I think you have Compartment syndrome."

"That doesn't sound good," he panted. "Is it fatal?"

"Not immediately… but it's going to get painful. You could slip into shock and die. You could get permanent muscle and nerve damage. A lot of things could happen if we don't treat you soon." Opening the first aid kit, Conan popped out the kid Advil and held it out to KID. "Here. It's better than nothing."

"Thanks." KID swallowed them. "Though this might be for the best—if I die, that'll give you more time." His voice broke at the end and he rubbed his eyes, tilting his face away from Conan.  
"I'm not letting you die, KID!" Even Conan was surprised at the determination in his tone. He continued. "You're not allowed to die on me, damn it! Who else is going to annoy me with petty parlor tricks and grand larceny!? Who else will remind me that the world isn't only filled with potential murderers and victims!?" Snatching the pocket knife and water bottle up, Conan returned to the backseat, undid his belt, and threw it at KID. "I'm going to perform surgery. Put that between your teeth and hold onto something."

"You can't do that! You don't know what you're doing!"

Conan glared. "I'm going to make a long incision along here—" He pointed at the area he tried to wipe earlier—"To release the pressure. I have to be very fast, without empathy." He flipped open the pocket knife. "I'm not letting you die here, you stupid thief. Now do what I say."

KID hesitated, then obeyed, biting down on the leather of his belt and clutching the seats in a vice grip. "On the count of three," Conan said, "And don't fight passing out. One—"

Conan struck, slicing KID's skin, a torrent of blood falling from the wound. KID screamed through the gag, a long torn-out shriek that echoed around the car before he fell into unconsciousness.


End file.
